She told me I was making mistakes. Following dead end streets. I could run as fast as I wanted but I’d never get anywhere the way I was heading. She would sit on the floor in my room when she talked to me about anything she felt was important. She would look at my closet doors as if I was sitting inside when we spoke. I watched her hands when she told me how reckless I was and how she wouldn’t stay around any longer if it meant watching me kill myself. We were barely 17 and the world was already overwhelming us. It’s amazing how much you can ruin before you’re old enough to vote or smoke a cigarette. Her shoes sat by my bedroom door. Her hair was short and her eyes looked like mine. Like they hadn’t closed since infancy. I hadn’t eaten for days for absolutely no reason. I slept for an hour a night and spent the rest of the time walking around the dark neighborhood in shorts and a Tshirt. I was ready to give up if I hadn’t already and she was watching me do it to myself. She was always right.